


Animal

by msmeadows



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 13:51:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4708286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmeadows/pseuds/msmeadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anderson always knew the switch that kept Sherlock in check would flip. Not even in John's wildest nightmares would it have been over a woman as broken as the monster they were chasing... Or that she'd beg for the bullet. </p><p>This one is going to be slow burn for John and Sherlock. Not heavy on romance, with A LOT of graphic descriptions. This is actually for an original short story I am writing, I just needed a place to throw ideas... and maybe dabble in smut, sometimes you need smut.</p><p>**** I'm very serious about the graphic descriptions IT IS NOT MEANT TO BE A FUN HAPPY STORY</p>
            </blockquote>





	Animal

Pickaxes were coming off the fucking death dice if it was the last Goddamn thing she did. The second to last thing she would do, would be to drive the same forsaken piece of iron through her bosses eye socket, because fuck logic. 

Fuzz groaned his way through another dry heave behind her as she placed her foot on the dead inmates shoulder for leverage.

"Jesus Christ Shayla," Fuzz moaned into the bark of an old cypress.

Poor Fuzz just wasn't made for this. He was a good man, young and so painfully eager to please. Shayla growled against the surgeons mask, kid had graduated top of his class from the Baton Rouge police academy and now he was stuck out in Bum Fuck NOWHERE sinking bodies into the swamp with an increasingly disturbed serial killer who moonlighted as a dog catcher... She couldn't even remember when she made the flip of the former to the latter. 

A thick wet squelch rang out through the clearing like a dry gun shot. Shayla threw the axe to the ground with a disgusted snort, the inmate hitting sodden ground with a dull thump and promptly evacuating its bowels.

Fuzz looked decidedly faint.

"Don'tcha fuckin' dare Fuzz, I still gotta sink the fucker. Sides' I left the smellin' salts in the truck."

She shook off the throb of guilt as he visably steadied himself.

" Aw, hell sugar maybe ya oughta sit this one out. Body ain't to heavey and saw enough eye flash to gaurantee what don't sink will be gone before the Boss comes checkin'."  
Fuzz spun on the heel of his boots so fast he stumbled a few feet before pulling himself into a full run. The moist earth sucking to the bottom of his boots in an effort to make him stay; to make him watch. Vomit rushed into his mouth hot and bitter before he could even suppress a gag. Bile streaking the sleeve of his shirt as he wiped his mouth with a final backwards glance before trotting the last few yards to the truck and slamming the door. Her laughter chasing his heels the entire way.

Dropping into a crouch, Shayla hooked her finger into the gaping maw that had once served as mouth and dropped the surgeons mask she carefully kept and maintained for Fuzz. A wicked grin splitting her face as she inhaled the sour smell of copper, death, and sick. Pulling the skinning knife stored in her muck boots Shayla pressed the blade into the dead inmates lower stomach. Luxuriating in the in the feel of the knife sliding through skin, fat, and muscle; ecstasy lit her nerves when she felt the gentle pull of suction on the blade when it finally entered the cavity that held in the inmates bowels. "Alright sugar," she whispered soft and sweet, "time to spill."

Fuzz clamped his fingers tighter around his ears and tried to pretend the moan came from the radio and not the beauty out in the swamp who'd been twisted into something foul like poison.


End file.
